Holy cow, it’s been over a YEAR since I’ve posted a Convos with the Kiddos post! Can you believe that? I couldn’t, but c’est vrai! So, you would think I have an entire year’s worth of gems, right? Well, I have some, but I may have slacked off a bit on the collecting of data. I know, I know, bad blogger. No cookie.

But, without further ado, I present to you my now5 and 8year olds and their bon mots of brilliance:

5: Anakin was a baby at one time.

Me: Yes, I’m sure he was.

5: Everyone’s a baby before they become a human.

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5: I wish I was a grasshopper.

Me: Why?

5: Then I could jump over buildings and jump over the house.

Me: What kind of crazy grasshoppers do that?

5: All of them!

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5: Do they have fireworks at a wedding?

Me: Fireworks?

5: Yeah, you know, fireworks that go off after they fall in love?

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Talking about smoke stacks:

5: Those are the machines that make clouds!

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Preparing to go to a wedding and my kids see me in a very rarely worn dress:

I am married to a murderer. You would think, as an attorney, I could have avoided getting tangled up with such a nefarious person, but apparently even I am not immune to the seductive nature of a bad boy. In fact, I was not aware of his true nature when we met, nor even when I married him and bore his offspring. It was not until recent events transpired that I discovered who he really is.

It began with a confession. That’s right, he plainly and blatantly admitted his crime to me. At first I was aghast and horrified. How could he do such a thing? Who was this monster I was married to? He claimed it was merely an accident, but I could read the truth behind his eyes. It was planned. With malice aforethought.

The day in question, I returned to my room after being out in the warm sunshine all day, and threw my belongings on the bed. I ran into the bathroom to take a shower before departing for dinner that night. Little did I know, when I returned to the bedroom that afternoon, what carnage lie ahead. Soon after, the man I so naively married all those years ago, entered the bedroom. And while I was distracted by warm soapy water, he proceeded to commit his nefarious deed. Once his crime was committed, he entered the bathroom and breezily informed me of his actions, apologizing, whilst showing me the remains of his victim. “Man, I sure did crush them,” he proclaimed. “I thought there might have been a chance to fix them, but no way. They are goners.”

What he showed me was the broken pieces of a dear friend. Her body smashed beyond repair. I was heartbroken! She had been big and bold and sassy. I loved her so. But now she was gone.

He says he lost his balance and fell. A likely story that would never hold up in court in front of a jury of his peers. Who just loses their balance and falls down, placing their derriere precisely on a person’s most treasured and loved object, resting innocently on the bed below? The poor unsuspecting victim sitting helplessly as the weapon of her demise plummets down upon her and snuffs out her life in an instant. Unfortunately, she probably did see it coming.

I examined the corpse, hoping there might be a way to save her. Some last ditch effort to revive her once glorious soul. But alas, she was beyond repair. He crushed the life out of her when he crashed down upon her. There was no hope. No breath to be blown into her. No going back.

“I’ll get you a new pair,” he blithely said. As if that could make it all better. Not even realizing how those words crushed my soul. Obviously, I would need another. I could not go without. Not in this place, not at this time. But she could never be replaced. Not in my mind, nor my heart. It would just be a new one. That’s all it could ever be.

The “replacements.”

We bought them from a street side cart in front of the hotel. They will do for now. But they will never be the same as the ones before. My old friend. I guess I will always have my memories of her. And the pictures. Of course, there’s always the pictures.

Please join me in a moment of silence as we all remember the good times . . . and miss my dear friend. R.I.P. Sunglasses.

So, as you can see, I’ve returned from my trip to paradise, aka Key West. While the Northeast was getting hit by another winter weather event, do you know what we were being hit with in Key West? Gentle sea breezes blowing in off of the water, as we sat on our veranda, drinking tropical beverages and warming ourselves in the 79* heat, under a brilliantly sunny blue sky.

It was torture.

Snow? What’s that?

But I missed home. I mean really, who needs to wake up at 9:00 am and take your key lime colored coffee mug out to your hotel room’s balcony and watch the ships as they sail by, and the busy goings on down on the street below? Not me, that’s for sure. I’d much prefer bitter cold temps with wind chills below zero and lots of snow to shovel. Good exercise is what that is. None of this lazy, lounging around for me any more!

And spa treatments? Pfft, what am I, a Real Housewife? You mean lounge around all day getting a massage and facial while drinking the most delicious (and why didn’t I think of that) strawberry infused water, while being completely pampered and spoiled by the spa staff? No thank you, I’d prefer to just go to work and get yelled at all day. Much more rewarding.

And speaking of drinking, I definitely don’t miss the Key Lime Pie Martini, served to me as we dined on a private island just off of Key West, while experiencing one of the most delicious meals I have ever tasted, sitting al fresco and gazing at the gently lapping waters on the beach just beyond the restaurant’s patio. Nope, that’s crazy talk. Who would miss that? Back to just plain old water and sensible meals now that I’m home. That’s so much better.

And whimsy? Who needs whimsy? Key West was lousy with it, I tell you. From glowing menus, to flashing mugs filled with daiquiris, to viewing a sunset on an island where wild deer roam the beach. It’s all just a bunch of poppycock! Good riddance, I say.

Not to mention all of the celebration! A person could get a swelled head with all that attention. Apparently, the hubs called ahead to the island, because it seemed as if everywhere we went, someone was wishing me a Happy Birthday and bringing me treats. Sparkling Key Lime pie, mid-afternoon room service of champagne and strawberries, mid-afternoon room service of margaritas, with chips & salsa, Happy Birthday spelled out on a dessert, a special birthday menu delivered to me rolled up like a scroll . . . all way over the top and way too much celebratory nonsense for this unassuming, level-headed girl. I mean really, it wasn’t even my birthday anymore! For shame, Key West. For shame.

Oh, and don’t get me started on the gorgeous sunsets and outdoor scenery. It’s enough to make you sick! Much better to be surrounded by the brown and white that is presently plaguing us at home. That way, we get to be the ones to shine in our brightly colored snowpants and fuzzy hats! Who would even notice us in our shorts and sandals, surrounded by all that beauty in Key West? Nobody. Nobody would ever see us. Or find us . . . hmmmm.

So, like I said, it is really great to be home. In fact, we returned just in time to experience a fresh coating of snow, and it looks like despite a brief respite that is reminiscent of the Key West weather, we will soon return to those winter-like weather conditions. Who needs Key West? Not this girl. Nope. I’m definitely not dreaming of the day when I can finally retire from my hateful job and move to a bungalow on the island, while the hubs goes out fishing every day and I lay in the sun, relaxing and writing, resting up for my job as a bartender at night in one of the “locals” bars. Yeah, that’s absolutely ridiculous, and I’m frankly offended that you would even suggest it. I mean, who am I . . . Hemingway? Sheesh!

If you are new here, you might not be aware that I am cursed. My birthdays typically suck and/or some tragedy occurs on or around it as a result of my bad birthday mojo. This year, I was going to try to escape the angel of death by being completely and absolutely still, and hoping it would just pass right by me. I thought I had escaped it unscathed this time. Until the next day.

(If you’d like a rundown of past birthday suckage, and no, I was not exaggerating about the death part, go here to edumacate yourself).

Actually, this year, the birthday angel lulled me into a false sense of security. The week preceding my birthday was going swimmingly. My colleagues took me out to lunch, unprompted, to a very nice restaurant, and actually paid for my lunch. This is huge, as in preceding years, they have failed to even acknowledge that I had ever been born. Not just that, but when I arrived at work 2 days before my birthday, I found this waiting for me:

It was from my secretary, whom I believe I have previously mentioned as being quite rad. It contained a bottle of wine, wine glasses, nail polish and plastic utensils. A bit of an inside joke, there, but basically for my lunches at work. See? Rad.

The day prior to my birthday, I actually received a card from everyone at work. Another rare occurrence that doesn’t happen every year. In fact, I believe this is the first year that I received it on time, and that I didn’t have to basically give to myself. That was another fun one.

Then, after work, I ran to the mall to take advantage of a few free birthday treats that I was to receive before the end of the month. Sephora was giving out a little mini pack of lipstick & mascara, I had a free coupon for a smoothie, and I had received an email for $15 off any purchase at Ann Taylor, so I hit the sale rack and walked away with 2 sweaters for a mere $20. Once I also completed the few returns I had to make while in the mall, I came out square. Free mall trip, woo hoo!!

When I returned home that evening, I found that I had even more birthday treats waiting for me. There was this huge box that had arrived from my good friend Andrea. I was doubly impressed that it arrived the day before my birthday, as she is notoriously (and adorably) Post Office averse. Case in point . . . last year’s birthday package arrived at the end of March. So, she really got it in gear this year, and made it a day early. I am very impressed!

Inside, I found 4 gorgeous martini glasses and some mini bottles of booze. Hmmm, anyone else sensing a trend here? What do you think people are trying to say about me with their gift choices? I cannot figure it out.

After a quick review of the contents of the box, and a quick change out of my work clothes, I then jetted off to have dinner with another good friend and her daughter. We went to my favorite local sushi place, and she too showered me with presents and bought me dinner. It was a very good day, to say the least, and it wasn’t even my birthday yet!

On the actual day, I was playing it coy and low key, so I took the day off of work, slept in, and generally relaxed for most of the day. Granted, there was laundry and packing to do for my upcoming trip, but that wasn’t too much of a chore, considering. It was a lovely, stress-free day that I quite enjoyed.

Once my kids got home from school, though, the exciting festivities began. I came downstairs to encounter the kitchen transformed into a tropical paradise. I was informed that this birthday’s theme would be “warm weather.” As long as I remained indoors, I could very easily go along with this fantasy.

Then there were the gifts. For my birthday, I asked the hubs to get 2 things for me . . . a suitcase and new leather gloves. Since my current pair look like this:

He came through on both, so he did a great job. But he didn’t stop there, of course. Because he’s him, and there are always more gifts. More . . . interesting . . . gifts. Such as . . .

Movies?

And then, of course, there was another gift following my own personal birthday theme . . .

There is gonna be some drinking going on up in he-ah!

And . . .

Classy? Sure, let’s go with that.

Then I opened this one . . . in front of my kids. Yeah, thanks hubs.

Front . . .

Back.

Well, it is the 50th Anniversary edition, so really, it’s a super special gift. Right? Uh huh.

The next day I had to go to work. Which sucked, but I just didn’t have enough leave to take that day off as well since I would be leaving early and getting on a jet plane (don’t know when I’ll be back again) . . . and heading to Key West for 3 days. Or at least . . . I thought I was. Until I received the call from school telling me that my youngest son had a temperature and had to go home. Since the hubs was home that day, he picked him up and took him to the doc’s real quick. Then I got the text: Strep. And then I had to make a decision: go home to take care of my son or leave for Key West in 4 hours.

At that point, the mama bear gene kicked in big time and I started freaking out. I didn’t want to go on vacation. I mean I really wanted to go, but I didn’t want to just leave my sick son with my brother in law while I jetted off to a tropical vacation. That felt very wrong, somehow, and I also just wanted to go home and hug and care for my baby. Who, at this point, I wouldn’t see until Monday if we left. I was so torn. And I realized . . . the birthday curse had struck again. Damnit!

Obviously, I came to my senses, after being talked down by pretty much everyone I consulted, including my husband. My son was on meds and seemed ok, so we decided that we would go. So, although that damn curse had hit again, this time affecting my poor son, I wasn’t going to let it ruin everything. The birthday curse would not win this time. So, we were off to paradise!